Uncontrollable
by Lucy H
Summary: Sometimes the fairytale doesn't have a happy ending. [oneshot]


A/N: I posted this before as a part of a series, entitled Bring on the Flames. It started to get slightly out of control, so I've decided to repost just the first part as a vignette.

_Disclaimer: I don't own them. _

It all started when the others moved away. We were left by ourselves, but everyone thought we could cope. We were lonely, and things went from bad to worse.

On the outside, we seem to be perfect. But inside (_drum-roll, please_) we aren't. Maybe that didn't warrant the drum-roll, but the way our friends and families react, you'd think it did. In between times, we're happy, and we are the perfect family. Just not all of the time.

It all started when the others moved away, as I've said. Ross and Rachel took Emma to Florida for a holiday once, and they liked it so much, they decided to move there. Phoebe, Joey, Chandler and I were upset, but we understood that it was a better environment to bring up a child in. And even then, it hadn't started.

Joey left soon after – he got a movie offer in LA, and went off like a shot. Originally, it was only for two months, but when he got there, his career really took off. He starred in movies, and eventually met a girl called Taylor, and fell in love. We understood that he wasn't coming back, especially when their son Joseph Junior was born, six months after they married.

Phoebe, Chandler and I felt as though our gang had been ripped in pieces. We all became very close, and the birth of our daughter, Robyn, just made us even closer. Phoebe moved into Joey's old apartment, so that she could be near us.

However, when Robyn was four months old, Phoebe's long-lost love, David, came back. He told her that he was coming back to the States for good, and we were so happy for Phoebe. There was more to come. After the first euphoria was over, Phoebe was informed that David was soon moving to Boston, to be near his dying mother. She was so in love, that she decided to go with him.

Chandler and I were left alone with Robyn. Life became slightly dull. Each day, I would stay at home with the baby, Chandler would work, he would come home and play with Robyn, and then we'd go to bed. I felt annoyed, and used – I worked all the hours that God sends to keep my apartment clean, and to cook food for us. I bathed the baby, I fed her, I had been the one who had gone through a horrendous twenty-three hour labour to bring our child into the world. My life ceased to have any meaning, and my mood swings, initially from pregnancy, but they carried on, made things worse.

Our relationship had been going from bad to worse, and then the violence started. Robyn was thirteen months old, and another baby was on the way, and the violence still started. When it first began it was simple slaps – just occasionally, not really painful. We were both so shocked and sorry afterwards. However, by the time baby Mark arrived, the sound of hand on skin was a common occurrence in our apartment. Several times a day – just for silly things. Things like the apartment not being clean enough, or the food being burnt.

Mark's now ten months old, and Robyn's nearly three. They've never seen anything, and they've certainly never been hit. However angry someone is, they wouldn't hit a baby – or would they? That's the thing I'm worried about, the thing I want to change. The children could be in danger – real danger.

I can hear Chandler coming up the stairs. It's a good day today, thank God. It scares the hell out of me when it's a bad day. The things that have happened – simple slaps, progressing to hard punches, making noses bleed for hours. There have been several incidents where feet have lashed out instead of hands. I'm not in control of it, and I can't stand it. I've always needed to be in control, and I'm not… neither of us are in control any more.

Chandler comes in, and visibly flinches when he sees me. I wince at the bruises covering his arms, visible when he removes his jacket. A slight scar on one cheek, where I threw a vase at him – it bled for hours, and he had had to have three stitches. I've always been freakishly strong. I never imagined I could hurt the person I loved so badly.

"Don't hurt me, Monica, please, not today."


End file.
